


Love Between Cats and Dogs

by midnightflame



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood, Football, Gargoyles, Halloween, Haunted Houses, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Minor Character(s), Past Violence, Pixies, Scary Movie Tropes, Social Issues, Supernatural Elements, Vampires, Were-Creatures, Werecats, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-01-26 00:26:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21365143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightflame/pseuds/midnightflame
Summary: Halloween.Where most schools looked forward to the earlier part of the month for their Homecomings, Garrison High eagerly anticipated that last day of October. Where the wicked and arcane came out to play, bolstered by long-held superstitions and unfettered by the restrictions that came with the rest of the year. In the weeks prior to it, the atmosphere of the school changes. Growing stronger, electric, full of the sort of energy that has to power to manifest dreams and nightmares alike.It also happens to be the most anticipated time for those lovestruck souls of Garrison High. Rumor has it that those couples who get together beneath the full moon on All Hallows’ Eve will have their fates intertwined for eternity.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 214





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, [synnesai](https://twitter.com/synnesai) drew this super cute [sheith picture](https://twitter.com/synnesai/status/1189266962767065088) for Halloween, and I absolutely adored the concept! It's a bit later than I anticipated due to work things, but I hope you all enjoy this little Halloween fic!
> 
> And as always, feel free to come yell at me over on [twitter](https://twitter.com/bymidnightflame)!

Halloween. 

Where most schools looked forward to the earlier part of the month for their Homecomings, Garrison High eagerly anticipated that last day of October. Where the wicked and arcane came out to play, bolstered by long-held superstitions and unfettered by the restrictions that came with the rest of the year. In the weeks prior to it, the atmosphere of the school changes. Growing stronger, electric, full of the sort of energy that has the power to manifest dreams and nightmares alike.

It also happens to be the most anticipated time for those lovestruck souls of Garrison High. Rumor has it that those couples who get together beneath the full moon on All Hallows’ Eve will have their fates intertwined for eternity.

For better or worse.

Though, at that prime age of indefatigability upheld by a reckless sense of immortality, none believe in the darker potentials of such a promise. For them, it’s love everlasting, a meeting of souls who cannot believe that anything would blacken their hearts against one another.

*

“Lance, your fangs are showing. . .”

“No one asked for your opinion, Keith. Besides, Allura thinks they’re cute.”

“Because they’re so small?”

“What?! No! They’re not small! I’ll have you know these are perfectly average fangs for a guy my age!”

“So nice of you to admit you’re _perfectly average_.”

“Fuck you, Keith.”

“Now, there’s something I have absolutely no interest in,” Keith laughs, the smirk over his lips positively vicious in its making. 

Lance doesn’t rise to the bait this time. Instead, his lips form a smirk of their own, just as ruthless, and his eyelids fall to half-mast. All of it giving him the appearance of a thief about to reveal his latest steal. Just enough details to incite jealousy, not nearly enough to divulge trade secrets. With his forearm resting on one of the classroom's desks, he leans in closer to where Keith sits on the opposite side. 

“At least I’m not the guy pining over the one person in this school who’ll never see me as datable.”

Keith feels the hair on the nape of his neck raise at that, his ears rolling back flat against his head. A warning he knows Lance will pointedly ignore. But since when have vampires ever considered themselves the vulnerable type when it came to the various threats against them? Their immortality did come with a few stipulations, after all, and most were surprisingly difficult to meet, given their abilities. Then again, only the stupid or the brave died young. That went for whether you were a youthful twenty or a youthful two-hundred years old. It’s all about perspective, and vampires had an unfair edge when it came to aging. 

“It’s not pining,” Keith mutters. His tail curls around his right ankle like that somehow might protect his weak points. Although, he’s not one of the demigods either. Covering for all his weaknesses isn't as simple as armor-plating the right body part.

“Yeah, no, as much as I hate to do this, I’m gonna have to go with Lance on this one, Keith.”

Sitting across from them on another desk is a petite brown-haired girl with round, thin-wired glasses that consume the upper half of her face. She’s staring at Keith now with a mischievous smirk of her own, one he recognizes immediately. Whenever she’s feeling particularly devilish, that look can be found lighting up her features like some haunted jack-o’-lantern.

And that smirk never fails to grace her lips when a tag-team opportunity with or against Lance opens itself up before her. In that, Keith has to admit, she’s never been very picky about which side she’s standing on regarding the vampire. He’s as vulnerable to her quips and chaos as any human. It’s a respectable sort of fairness. She gives a flick of her translucent wings, lightning sparking through them as her excitement betrays itself. 

“Pidge. . .” He doesn’t mean to sound as pitiful as he does, but that name definitely comes out with more of a pleading edge than he cares for. She’s supposed to be one of his better friends. 

She smiles at him now, full toothed and thoroughly unrepentant. “Admit it, Keith. This is more than just some brotherly, best friend thing you’ve got going on with Shiro.”

“It’s. . .it’s _Shiro_,” Keith tries to explain, opening up his palms as though they might somehow reveal the point he’s trying to make. This isn’t some kid’s fascination with an idol, and it’s not like he actually thinks Shiro would consider him for a boyfriend, much less even a date. He’s been one of the most constant people in Keith’s life, though, and somehow. . .somehow that’s hard for his heart to forget even if his head tries to draw lines around their relationship.

“You’re right. He’s Shiro. Probably the most desired guy in this school, and yet surprisingly single despite being a senior,” Pidge follows up. Her smirk takes a particularly devious turn as she finishes, her gaze set squarely on Keith.

“You have to admit he’s a good looking guy for a werewolf,” Lance chimes in, though he wrinkles his nose faintly as the last word drops from his tongue.

“Hoho! High praise coming from the vampire section. Do I detect a bit of a crush there, Lance?” Pidge teases, her mouth pulled wide with a grin. She plants both hands on the edge of the desk, right between her legs, and curls her fingers around as she leans forward, anchoring herself in her precarious position. 

“If your records didn’t indicate you were a pixie, I’d swear you were a damn imp,” Lance mutters. “No! I don’t have a crush. . .he’s just. . .cool, you know. Even if he is a dog. . .”

“Shiro isn't a dog!”

“Down, boy!” Pidge raps Keith on the nose with her index finger, her smile all the more malicious. “Though technically, you are correct. He’s a wolf, which is completely different from Bae-Bae, even if they are related.”

“Your bull terrier isn’t even a bull terrier. She just masquerades as one,” Lance cuts back, his smirk reasserting itself. “Imagine what the city would think, knowing they had a hell hound parading around like some common dog!”

“Oh, she is anything but common!” Pidge replies, a sing-song edge to her voice that has the hair on Keith’s tail standing upright. She fixes him with her stare, eyes glinting behind her glasses. “Much like Shiro. . .”

“What’s this about Shiro?”

Keith exhales heavily, sitting back in his chair, as he glances toward the curtain dividing their classroom in half. Hunk stands there, one hand carefully patting down the thick black fabric in his wake. Patches of stonework cover his tan skin, and his lips have a grayish tinge to them that would make you believe them impossible to move. Yet, they’ve managed to curve themselves into an easy smile that immediately cuts the tension behind the partition in half. Cobwebs are strung between the two short horns on his forehead. Even in the dim lighting of the classroom, Keith can see the tiny spider that’s hard at work maintaining its web’s appearance. 

Then again, he’s never had much trouble seeing in the dark. 

Keith shrugs and drops his head down onto his forearm. One black-furred ear remains pinned back while the other focuses itself on Lance. His tail, now deflated, curls around the metal leg of his chair.

“I did hear his name, didn’t I?” Hunk presses, his brow knitting itself together. The spider, small and black and completely harmless, continues cleaning up the lines of its web. “Isn’t he supposed to be coming back sometime soon? And aren’t you guys supposed to be out there helping me run our booth? I sent you all back here for apples hours ago!”

“It’s only been fifteen minutes, Hunk,” Pidge corrects him. She holds one finger up to him, her eyes preternaturally bright once again. “Last I calculated, you had enough apples out there to run the booth for another twenty-five minutes, and yes, we were talking about Shiro and Keith’s continued denial regarding him.”

“Oh, the crush thing?” Hunk asks. He scratches at the back of his head, the furrow in his brow digger deeper. “And the last time **I** calculated, we had twenty minutes worth of supplies.”

Pidge rolls her shoulders, her wings stretching out behind her with another pulse of blue electricity running through them. “Sounds like someone needs remedial math. . .”

“What?! My math is absolutely flawless! Who do you think I am - Lance?!”

“Hey, now!” Lance jerks forward in his chair. The front legs hit against the floor tiles with a sharp crack, and as though snapping him out of his potential furor, he settles back in his chair and shrugs. “Ok, so maybe math isn’t my thing. . .”

“A lot of things aren’t your thing, Lance,” Pidge laughs. “Even Keith here has better grades than you!”

Keith feels his tail unravel quick as a whip’s lash, and within seconds, it has puffed itself up again to double its normal size. “Wait. . .what is that even supposed to mean?!”

“Yeah, what does that even mean?!” Lance echoes. His blue eyes flash with indignation, and were he capable of it, Keith is confident his cheeks would have been painted a mean shade of red. As it stands, they’re still about as ashen as his tanned skin can reasonably get. “Are you calling me stupid?!”

“Maybe academically challenged?” Pidge muses, swinging her feet now. With every other arc they make, her heels hit against one of the desk’s legs. “Then again, Keith is an odd genius in some areas. . .so maybe even that’s not a fair comparison.”

“Hasn’t it been past twenty minutes already?!” Keith cuts in. Whereas Lance’s cheeks fail to flash pink, his own are flaring with heat. And while he’s not one to lament most things, there are moments where he thinks the inability to be betrayed by his own blood must be pretty damn nice. As it stands, he’s the perfect picture of uncomfortable, and he knows Pidge is absolutely eating it up. 

“Hello?”

_Oh gods_. . .Keith recoils in on himself, horror churning his blood to a thick muck that barely seems to make it through his heart. He feels his cheeks heating up faster; his tail deflates, coiling limply around his leg once more.

“Shiro! In the back, behind the curtain!” Pidge calls out. As she does so, her gaze fixes itself firmly on Keith, like a leech to an unsuspecting victim in a pond, sucking down Keith’s fear as though it’s some life-giving nectar. 

Maybe it is.

It’s not like he knows all that much about other supernatural creatures. Outside of the shape-shifter community, he hasn’t exactly had a lot of contact with others until this last year. 

Shiro pokes his head through the curtain, for a moment looking like one of the dullahans flashing their head around. He seems to take in the situation, his gray eyes lingering on Keith with something along the lines of worried curiosity, before finally stepping the rest of his body completely through. 

“Are you supposed to leave your station like that?” Shiro asks, genuine concern in his voice as he glances back toward the front of the classroom. “I’m pretty sure James was out there muttering something about turning the water into real blood if everyone didn’t keep to their positions out there. . .”

Despite the concern, Keith can’t help but notice the faint twitch at the corner of Shiro’s mouth, betraying his amusement over the whole scene. He likes that about Shiro, too - his ability to still have fun even while looking after them all. 

“He had better not ruin my apple-bobbing broth!” Hunk exclaims. He starts retracing his steps, murmuring to himself with a murder-ready look hardening his features. Before pulling back the curtain, he turns and points to both Pidge and Lance. “I want those apples out there in five, you got that?”

Not giving them a chance to counter him, Hunk disappears behind the curtain, where Keith knows their table waits for him to take command over it once more. He’s not sure how exactly they decided on an apple-bobbing booth for their class’ station. . .maybe because it was the easiest time investment. Besides, the seniors always got the haunted house, and isn’t that what everyone was really here for anyway? 

“I’m not getting the ones with the worms in them,” Lance mutters as he pushes himself out of his chair. 

“What’s this? Our dear grave-sleeper afraid of a few bugs?” Pidge taunts. Her smirk is as ruthless as ever, her words as precise as a sniper’s shot and just as devastating. 

“You know I don’t sleep in a grave, Pidge.”

“But you have before. . .”

“Maybe if someone hadn’t forgotten my umbrella. . .”

“Sunlight doesn’t hurt you that much, Lance.”

“How would you know how much it hurts?!”

Keith sighs, shaking his head as the two carry their argument to the other side of the room and begin digging through the crates of apples. 

“Causing trouble like always, huh?” Shiro asks with a laugh. 

He looks good. Despite everything earlier, Keith can’t stop himself from thinking that. Shiro’s ears stand erect on top of his head, seeming to take in everything around him, and yet his eyes remain focused on Keith like he’s the only worthwhile thing in the room. But Shiro has that effect, making you feel like you’re important, no matter what the world has to say about you. That there’s something good in what Keith is - that’s the feeling he always gets under Shiro’s stare. 

And his letterman jacket doesn’t hurt either. It looks soft and comfortable, warm in all the ways a heart should be. It fits Shiro well, just a little loose on the shoulders, which is something of a feat given how broad they are. He’s not even done growing yet. Keith knows that much about werewolves. A difference between them, even if they’re both were-creatures. Most werewolves filled in by their late twenties. Keith expected his werecat genes to top him off in his early twenties. Even at his adult size, Shiro’s letterman jacket would swamp his form, more like a blanket to be lived in than an article of clothing to declare his place on a team within the school.

Somehow, Keith doesn’t mind that notion. Wrapping himself up like that. . .but not just anyone got to wear a letterman jacket, particularly at their school. 

If he were to wear Shiro’s he would be. . .

“I got tickets for the haunted house,” Shiro says, a trace of concern drawing his eyebrows together as he speaks. “I thought you might like to go with me since you’re supposed to be on break right now. . .”

“Oh,” Keith says. And for a moment longer, he says nothing more, just sits there with his mouth in that perfect little ‘O’ shape like he had become a creature of confusion rather than a werecat taken off guard by a little kindness. No, it’s more than that. It’s seeing some small dream of his realize itself when all he had dared to do was hope. He nods, offering Shiro a smile to put his worry at ease. “That sounds great, Shiro. I heard you guys went all out this year.” 

Shiro laughs again, and this time, it sounds the way honey-sweetened tea feels hitting his tongue on a winter’s morning. Warm and perfect and everything he needs. “You know how it is here - can’t let the previous senior class outshine you. . .”

Keith laughs as well, pushing himself out of his seat. His tail lifts, the tip curling like a question mark behind him. In response, he notices the way Shiro’s tail starts to wag a little, and it makes his heart flutter fiercely in his chest. If he lets it continue like that, Keith isn’t sure his body can keep it contained. So, he breathes out and nods, trying not to look at Shiro as they navigate around the desks piled together behind the curtain and move out of the classroom.

Hunk winks as they pass. Lance lets out a howl that’s muffled by Pidge’s hands seconds later. Her apology follows in their wake, though it’s comprised mostly of all the ways Lance is an absolute idiot and lacking in manners, making him an utter disgrace to all vampire kind. Shiro, for his part, takes it all in stride, waving everything off as they push through the crowd around their booth.

“They really are idiots,” Keith continues, feeling like Pidge’s apology wasn’t nearly enough. Mortifying, actually. Beyond pure idiocy and into the realm of reckless stupidity.

“It’s all right, Keith,” Shiro reassures him. He places a hand on Keith’s shoulder, and it takes all of Keith’s self-resolve not to lean into that touch with a tip of his head, asking for more. “They’re just having fun tonight. Like we should be doing as well. It’s Halloween, after all!”

The hallways are crowded as to be expected of the evening. Each class hosted its own special stand for the evening, but Keith barely notes the various stalls set up. Instead, he follows the line of Shiro’s back as he carves his way through the students clotting up the walkways. The signature ‘V’ of Garrison High’s logo cuts sharply across Shiro’s shoulders. It still strikes Keith as an odd thing, given that Garrison most certainly did not start with the letter ‘V,’ but supposedly, there was some guardian relic that was housed here, which - again, _supposedly_ \- did begin with that letter. 

What was it again. . .Vol. . .something. 

Whatever it is, no one has actually seen it, though their principal, Coran, insists it exists and routinely invites anyone brave enough to try and find its whereabouts. It’s led to a freshman tradition of traversing the underground passageways of the school in search of it, though they generally only find upperclassmen down there, ready to scare any sanity out of them. 

“How bad is it supposed to be this year?” Keith asks, his former thoughts lingering along the periphery of his mind.

“How bad?” Shiro asks. His head is tipped to the side with both ears pinned back to focus better on Keith’s voice. 

“Yeah. . .this haunted house of yours. . .”

“Oh!” Shiro lets out a chuckle that Keith swears borders on a devil’s laugh. Just a little too ominous. With a swish of his tail, Shiro grins at him. “We’ve made a few people cry. One of the fairies fainted, and I had to carry out a freshman earlier. . .”

Somehow, it’s the idea of Shiro carrying someone through the haunted house that has Keith’s ears pinning themselves flat to his head. 

Naturally, Shiro takes it as something else completely. Within the span of a heartbeat, he’s taken Keith’s hand in his and tugs him closer. “Don’t worry, Keith! I won’t let them steal your heart.”

Why does Shiro’s smile have to be something to die for? Keith nearly stumbles over his next step, entranced by the brightness of it and that strange warmth radiating out from where their hands are connected. He should let go. . .he should really let go. . .It’s not like he’s _actually_ scared, and of course, Shiro had to go playing the hero in all of this, and honestly, just how fucking stupid is it of him to go all weak in the knees over this?

“Or your soul for that matter,” Shiro tacks on with a hum. “Rizavi keeps stating she’s going to take someone's, but you know how those in Ammit’s line can be. . .”

Keith lets out a snort at that. “I’m a little hardier than that, Shiro.”

“I know.”

Keith’s heart tumbles over itself at those two words. Because Shiro had said it so casually like he’s never doubted what Keith is capable of, and maybe he hasn’t. Not since their first meeting a little over a year ago. 

They turn off from the main hallway and exit through a pair of dark blue doors to a covered walkway outside. In front of them stands the gym, a large gray-stone building whose vaulted ceilings and flying buttresses would have made it more at home in some medieval French city than a desert suburb in the American southwest. It fits with the rest of the school, even if it did make a strange addition to their town. Most of the human population had gotten used to it, and for the majority of the students, it felt a little more like home. If he had to admit it, Keith would have agreed with that sentiment. Far better than the cookie-cutter sterility of most of the other area high schools. 

As they approach the front doors, Shiro gives his hand a squeeze.

“Ready for this?”

Keith grins back at him, invigorated by Shiro’s touch. “Like I was born for it.”

Standing guard at the front is Rizavi. A black cloak swallows her frame, complete with an oversized hood, though there’s no hiding the pointed edges of her teeth when she smiles at them both. Behind her glasses, her green eyes flash with a wicked brand of amusement. “Another victim, Shiro?”

“You know me, doing my best to lure and capture for the cause.”

“One of Iverson’s kids this time?” Rizavi asks, craning her head around Shiro’s shoulder to get a better look at Keith. The moment their eyes meet, her crocodile smile is right back on her lips. 

Every instinct in Keith sends warning flares throughout his body, and without thought, his grip tightens over Shiro’s hand. It draws Shiro’s attention back to him, but rather than comment on it, he smiles as well. Something completely different from Rizavi, both comforting and warm, full of an affection Keith dares not let himself contemplate further. 

“This is Keith,” Shiro says calmly, lacing his fingers together with Keith’s. “And here are our tickets.”

Rizavi lets them pass, but not without a whisper as Keith passes by, about how delicious his soul seems to be. Even if it’s a joke, Keith doesn’t stop the shiver from rolling down his spine. But that’s the trouble with some of their kind - even a jest can contain enough truth to make your heart shudder with honest fear. 

The entire gym is immersed in darkness. From somewhere deeper in the maze that’s been set up, Keith can hear a girl scream, the terror of it ricocheting up into the vault of the ceiling where it echoes, the ghost of a dying horror. Keith tries to focus instead on the path before them. Shiro stands tall, his shoulders square, though the red lights illuminating their way turn the white of his letterman jacket a sickly shade of pink and make the black of his lettering all the blacker still. Shuffling forward, Keith falls into line with him, acutely aware of the way their hands are clasped together. Shiro is still wearing that smile over his lips, far too kind for the setting. 

Spiderwebs crawl over the wooden panels enclosing them, the passageway narrowing the further they get in until Keith is forced to make a choice: walk in front of or behind Shiro. 

“Which will it be?” Shiro whispers into his ear. 

The proximity of his voice catches Keith off guard. His body jolts, muscles tensing from his shoulders down to his forearms. 

Behind him, Shiro laughs.

“You’ve been in here, so I’ll take the front,” Keith states, determined. He’s not easily scared, but being so close to Shiro, holding hands, like they’re actually _together_, is more than he can honestly take. It’s a different sort of fear, knowing that the moment they leave this place, the illusion will all be over. And he knows that Shiro thinks he’s afraid, that he’s doing what he feels is right by being that reassuring presence at his side. How could he possibly know that even here, in the midst of a haunted house on Halloween night, the only thing Keith wants to do is confess everything to him? Like how Shiro makes him feel like he has a place in this world. 

Shiro’s laughter breaks him out of his thoughts, just in time to catch the way his heart is racing and that it has nothing to do with being in this place. 

“All right then. Lead the way, Keith.”

He nods at that, catching a sliver of Shiro’s face as one of the overhead lights swings above them. The first part of the maze reminds him of all those horror movies, where the kids get stuck in some ill-kept building, forced to run from some killer or another, until the inevitable happens - a board in the floor breaks, an ill-timed fall down the stairs. But nothing happens for the longest time. 

In reality, they’ve probably only been in here for two or three minutes, but in that time, it’s only been the disorientation of the lights swaying overhead and the slow narrowing of the walkway as it twists and turns around the gym. And then the floor changes. Boards laid unevenly across one another, making him focus more intently on where he steps. 

Behind him, Shiro murmurs about watching where he walks, and still, he keeps their fingers laced together. Every so often, Keith swears he feels a hand touching against his hip, guiding him. Out of nowhere, a chainsaw blares to life off to his left, sending him jumping to the other side of the walkway. Hands reach out, grabbing at his T-shirt. His eyes go wide, though it’s behind him that he looks first, to see where Shiro is. He’s still there, grinning, thoroughly enjoying Keith’s reactions. Finally, he looks to see several seniors he barely recognizes through all their make-up, locked up behind rusted iron bars, and reaching out for him. One screaming in pain, another begging him to let them out, and the last one, warning him of _that thing_ lurking still in the building. Keith blinks at them all, but what steals the breath from his lungs is the way Shiro wraps an arm around his waist and laughs into his ear. 

“C’mon, keep moving. We don’t want the next group catching up to us.”

He nods numbly, instantly regretting the moment Shiro unravels his arm from around him. The next threat barely registers in the wake of that, an open room where _that thing_ proves itself to be some deformed version of a human preparing to skin a victim, who lays sobbing on a blood-soaked table. Keith stares at the scene, fingers touching to his stomach where he can still feel the heat of Shiro’s forearm, and narrowly misses _that thing_ lunging for him in an attempt to replace his current victim.

Shiro immediately pulls him away, calling over his shoulder, “This one is mine!”

Then, they’re into a pitch-black corridor with Keith’s heart thundering in his head. Perhaps he should be grateful for the way the darkness conceals his face because he’s certain everything he feels is painted right there on it, as ugly and terrifying as everyone else playing their roles in the haunted house. What would Shiro even think, seeing him like that?

Wanting so desperately.

There’s a reason he’s single, right? Why he’s never dated someone when he easily could have and. . .He becomes acutely aware of someone breathing heavily near him. Keith tugs on Shiro’s hand, suddenly wishing he could see him. 

“Shiro?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you. . .”

“What’s wrong?”

“No. . . it’s. . .”

“You can tell me.”

Keith swallows. “Are you. . .breathing in my ear?”

The lights suddenly cut on in the next area, a ghoulish purple that paints Shiro’s skin like the dead, and leaves Keith staring into a set of wide red eyes. He doesn’t scream. No, he definitely wouldn’t call the sound he made just then a scream, but it’s still something he would rather not have had Shiro hear. He also would have preferred it if Shiro hadn’t pulled him back from the leap he had taken. Not because he didn’t want to get close to _it_ again but because it forced him to face his absolute mortification at having been caught off guard. 

Like a typical cat. 

Werewolves hated that about his kind, right? 

“I’m right here, Keith,” Shiro says. His voice is soft, calm. Keith looks over at him to find a small, amused smile on his lips. 

“I know that,” he mutters.

But just to make his point, he squeezes Shiro’s hand and strides forward again. The creature that had caught him was one of the vampires, her fangs out and tipped with fake blood. The red of her eyes isn’t fake, however, and that is what had sent him flying back. A vampire touched with hunger. Even Shiro gives her a decent berth, his ears perked forward, his tail curled up, and his body placed between her and Keith. 

Her lips curve into a saccharine smile. Keith can’t help the low growl he gives at the sight of it, his tail puffing up. When she laughs, it’s not kind. Rather, it’s caustic in an almost seductive way, the way overwhelming superiority can make you grovel. 

Not waiting for her commentary, Shiro pulls him into the next section of the room. “Veronica insisted on making this as real as we could, so she skipped breakfast and lunch today.”

“Is that even safe?” Keith hisses. 

Shiro shrugs. “She hasn’t bitten anyone yet.”

“That’s. . .” But Keith doesn’t finish his statement. Around the corner, the walls are bleeding, and there are several students strung up at the opposite end. Most are groaning weakly, their throats leaking red, and all Keith can see is the deep crimson of Veronica’s eyes burning before him and that wicked curl of her lips like he would have made the best meal. 

“I won’t let her bite you,” Shiro states firmly. And there’s something about the way he says it that makes Keith think there is more to it than simply protecting someone from the wayward appetite of a vampire. 

Possessive. 

Shiro’s voice had an edge to it that sent a shiver down Keith’s spine for an entirely different reason. 

“Well, she’s not biting you either,” Keith huffs, letting a little bit of a growl roll through the last two words. 

Shiro glances back to where his classmates continue to groan through the supposed end of their lives. “Should we finish up in here then?”

“That sounds good.” 

Feeling a bit more confident, Keith laughs and takes a step to stand beside Shiro. They make it through the last two sections with relatively little jumpstarts on Keith’s part. He has to admit the Egyptian section with its yowling cats and zombified mummies had put a touch of fear back into him, but Shiro’s steady presence got him safely through it all. Only one small tiny scream that he wouldn’t really call a scream. More like a startled yelp. 

Definitely not a scream. 

When they make it out the other side of the gym, Shiro’s teammate, Kinkade hands them a small packet of candy and a charm to ward off bad dreams. Keith has never known him to be one for talking, but Shiro seems to get whatever unspoken thing passed between them because he laughs and says, “We made it out alive!” like there had been some small possibility that they wouldn’t. Keith figures it might be some werewolf thing, but Kinkade smiles at them both and nods before reaching into his basket to hand out packets to the next round of survivors. 

“You guys really didn’t pull any punches on this one. . .”

Shiro hums around a Skittle he had fished out from his packet, then crunches down on it before replying. “Go big or go home, right?”

“So, what role did they have you playing in there?”

“Me?” Shiro asks, blinking down at Keith. He still hasn’t let go of Keith’s hand, instead, maneuvering his packet around with his free hand, then lifting both their hands as if it were nothing to him to better fish out the candy he had wanted. “I was the pharaoh. . .”

“Huh.”

“Huh? That’s all you have to say to that?”

“Well,” Keith starts, a sly smirk slowly climbing to his lips, “I guess you can be pretty kingly at times.”

“Only sometimes?” Shiro laughs. He lifts their hands again to scratch at his cheek with his index finger. “Maybe if I win the howling competition, you’ll think better of me.”

Keith starts at that. Only one thought flashes through his head - _I can’t think better of you than I already do._ But that’s not something one just blurts out to Takashi Shirogane, so instead, he clears his throat and smiles down at his feet.

“I think you’re fine the way you are, Shiro.”

“I still want to win the competition,” Shiro says with a sigh. He doesn’t sound particularly displeased, though.

“Is that some sort of werewolf pride thing?”

“I guess you could call it that. Want to wait with me over on the bleachers? It should start in the next fifteen minutes.”

Shiro. . .still wants to spend time with him. Somewhere in his chest, his heart drops out of existence. Only the memory of its beat left to haunt his chest. Maybe he was one of those kids who had passed out in the haunted house, and now he’s simply dreaming in the infirmary while everyone waits for him to wake up. And Shiro will still be there, mummified and scaring everyone trespassing into his sacred temple.

They're really here though, aren't they?

The bleachers are cold beneath his thighs. A full moon spills its light across the football field. Down at the opposite end, Keith can see Iverson talking with several of the other teachers, a flock of his familiars hovering in the air around him. When Shiro settles down beside him, the metal bench gives out a small groan of protest. 

They sit there in silence for several minutes, Shiro’s body big and warm against his own. They’d finally stopped holding hands when Keith had climbed up the first of the steps. Nothing awkward about it, really, just a slip of a parting, as natural as breathing. He misses Shiro’s touch, though. More than he would ever admit to himself much less to anyone else. It had been nice while it had lasted. That figment of a dream Keith will never be sure was entirely real to begin with.

“So, what woke up the pharaoh?” 

Shiro glances over at him, his left eyebrow lifted. “You mean in the haunted house?”

“Yeah. . .there’s usually a curse or something, right? Some elaborate ritual. . .”

“Love,” Shiro answers. There’s not a trace of embarrassment as he says it. 

“Love?” Keith asks. 

“Yep.”

“But wouldn’t his lover be dead too?”

“Not if they were reborn into the modern era.”

“And the pharaoh just knew?”

Shiro laughs quietly into his hands at that. Keith can barely make out the curve of a smile to his lips.

“Maybe they called out to him,” Shiro answers. “He could have spent all that time dreaming about them, and then, one day, he hears their voice again calling for him. . .”

A burst of wind cuts across the field and up into the stands. Keith shivers, wondering if that’s some strange omen, whispering warning in the wake of Shiro’s words. What he gets, instead, is Shiro peeling off his letterman jacket and holding it out to him. 

“Here.”

Keith’s heart finds itself again, clawing up his ribcage, beating furiously all the while. He swallows as he stares down at the jacket, his eyes wide. “That’s your letterman. . .”

“I know,” Shiro says, still holding it out to Keith. 

“You only wear someone’s letterman when - ”

He can’t bring himself to finish that statement, so Shiro does.

“When you’re someone’s boyfriend.”

“Shiro, are you. . .”

When Shiro turns to look at him, the blush is undeniable, as is the expectation in his gaze and the fear making his lips tremble. Even so, he smiles at Keith, that same beautiful kind smile that has broken more hearts than Shiro could ever imagine. And at one time, Keith had considered himself among those numbers. . .but now?

“I thought I could have given it to you before we went into the haunted house, but you seemed so determined,” Shiro says, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck. “You don’t have to say yes, but it’s Halloween and I. . .” His blush suddenly deepens, and before he continues, Shiro clamps a hand over his mouth. 

Had he done something wrong? No. Shiro looks. . .what is Keith supposed to do with Shiro looking at him like this? Like he’s never been so in love with someone before?

“Keith, are you. . .purring?”

Beneath the roar of his heart, Keith can hear it. That soft sound of utter contentment reverberating through his chest, and he. . .he. . .

“Oh gods,” Keith blurts out, taking Shiro’s jacket and burying his face into it. “It’ll go away. . .I promise, just give me a minute. . .”

“No, it’s okay, Keith! I like it!”

Behind him, Keith can feel Shiro’s tail wagging. Unwilling to bring his head back up (his cheeks are burning red, and he’s utterly mortified, and also Shiro’s jacket smells like Shiro, and it’s just making everything worse, but he doesn’t want to let it go), Keith slowly moves his tail toward Shiro’s and starts to wrap his own around it. Beside him, Shiro lets out a little woof of excitement, making Keith’s cheeks scald all the hotter still.

“Is that a yes?” Shiro asks, tentative.

Keith lets out a breath and nods into the fabric of Shiro’s jacket. 

“Yes, Shiro, I’m purring.”

“No, I mean. . .Wait, you’re happy?”

Keith nods again. 

“So, is that a yes to the other thing then?”

With an exasperated huff, Keith pulls himself upright, then quickly leans over to plant a kiss on Shiro’s cheek. Shiro blinks at him, wide-eyed, lips parted. Even caught in genuine surprise, Keith finds him the most beautiful thing in this entire universe, and he’s not even sure how that’s supposed to happen. Only that it exists, undeniably. Shiro is the one he wants. As Shiro’s lips pull into a grin, Keith begins sliding his arms into the jacket. His cheeks still burn, and Shiro’s letterman is wonderfully warm, and Keith is certain there isn’t anything better than this Halloween night. 

“In case you didn’t get that, I’m saying yes, Shiro.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know nothing about football. I make no apologies for this LOL

“Aren’t you guys. . .you know. . .not supposed to do this sort of thing?”

“What sort of thing?”  
  
“_This_.”

“This?”  
  
“Yeah. You know. . .don’t you guys like. . .save it up or something before a game?”  
  
“_Keith_. . .”  
  
The way Shiro says his name has Keith flicking his ears back. One, then the other, until both are flat against his skull. Petulance plucks at his lips until it makes a frown of them. For his part, Shiro looks far too amused, and it only deepens the curve of Keith’s lips.  
  
“It’s not funny,” Keith mutters.  
  
Shiro runs a hand through his hair, disheveling the short white strands even further than they already had been. His grin a terrible thing that still makes Keith’s heartbeat in erratic ways, like seconds falling off a clock face, still trying to keep time even in their descent. “Are you sure about that?”  
  
“Hundred percent sure.”  
  
“Huh.”  
  
“That’s it? Just. . ._huh_?”  
  
“Yep,” Shiro says, dragging a hand up along Keith’s spine.  
  
That touch has Keith arching against Shiro’s palm, and he very nearly curses himself for it. Cats and that skate of fingers along their backs. All pleasure and the promise of more, and fuck, just look at him rolling right along with it. At least he didn’t purr.

He bites at Shiro’s shoulder, canine teeth grazing over skin and earning him a soft hiss from Shiro in the process. Not that Shiro looks particularly. . .put out by it.  
  
“That’s my throwing arm,” he murmurs. Another slip of fingertips down along Keith’s spine, with Shiro’s hand finally settling at the base of it. “Gonna need that tomorrow.”  
  
“And none of that other stuff, huh?” Keith mutters. Far less a question than a complaint.  
  
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”  
  
Lifting his head from Shiro’s shoulder, Keith sets him with a firm stare. But there’s no deception in the gray of Shiro’s eyes, just that quiet amusement and a satisfaction Keith has long come to associate with these moments between them. He lets out a sigh, disrupting the pout on his lips, and deflates against Shiro’s chest. He can feel the chuckle that overtakes Shiro, a subtle reverberation through him that puts the puff in his tail.  
  
“I heard some of the guys talking about GT’s team,” Keith breathes out after Shiro has settled down. His gaze fixes itself on the smooth plane of Shiro’s chest, the rosy nipple on the opposite side. He licks his lips, ignoring the tug of desire from his core, and turns his attention to the column of Shiro’s neck instead. “They say none of them will so much as kiss their significant others in the week leading up to a game.”  
  
“They do know we play almost every weekend during the season,” Shiro replies. Amusement still colors his words, and this time, Keith can’t help but smile a bit with it. Somehow the idea of Shiro denying him a kiss for. . .well, for any amount of time seems so completely inconceivable, it’s laughable. He’d have an easier time arguing the worth of the moon than the length of time Shiro would dismiss him.  
  
Keith exhales. Dragging his hand up along Shiro’s torso, he reaches over and slowly circles his fingers around the nipple he had tried to forget. The tip of Shiro’s tail starts to wag, the fine white hair brushing over Keith’s calf and nearly causing him to break out in laughter. Instead, he bites down over Shiro’s collarbone. Through it, he manages a muffled, “Their coach thinks they play better pent up.”  
  
“Manticores will say anything to feed their hunger. You shouldn’t trust them.” Shiro grunts. His fingers dig into Keith’s lower back.  
  
Lapping at the mark he had just made over Shiro’s skin, Keith hums softly. He knows of the history there, between Galra Tech and their own university, between Shiro and the man he had denied all those years ago. When he should have been the perfect addition to a stellar roster and instead chose to forge his path with a relatively unknown team. Keith remembers the grim determination that had beset Shiro during the recruitment period. . .and what had come after. “All manticores, or just Sendak?”  
  
“All of them, but Sendak in particular,” Shiro says, soft and solemn with the memories he rarely talks of now.  
  
Keith shifts again, rising up from under the sheets to straddle Shiro’s hips. It’s not that he dislikes the way Shiro can get when he recalls that point in time. Three years ago, and still it feels like forever to him, though it may not be like that for Shiro. Keith understands that much, but he also knows that more than anything, Shiro prefers not to linger on those moments. He’d rather be in the present, and that’s precisely what Keith intends to drag him back into.  
  
He rolls his hips, smirking when he feels Shiro’s cock twitch with interest and doing nothing to hide his smug satisfaction over it. When Shiro glances down at him, eyes lifted in question, Keith wraps his tail around Shiro’s thigh and rolls his hips again. This time, Shiro grins and reaches down to place his hands on Keith’s hips. Already the brightness has returned to his eyes, reminding Keith of moonlight over snowfall at the forest’s edge, where the shadows fade into a thin line of gray. The borderlands between the dark unknown and the pristine.  
  
“Weren’t you worried about my _performance potential_ for tomorrow?” Shiro asks. But the way his cock hardens tells Keith he has no concerns whatsoever for that.  
  
With a slight arch to his back, Keith slides back over Shiro’s thighs, then leans forward to run his tongue up from Shiro’s groin to his bellybutton. He lets out a considering hum before grazing his teeth down along the line of hair leading toward Shiro’s cock. “I’m more worried about your performance potential for tonight.”  
  
Shiro barks out a laugh. His tail starts to wag again, ears pricked forward, all attention locked intently on Keith and the workings of his mouth.  
  
“I haven’t let you down so far, have I?”  
  
“There’s a first time for everything,” Keith teases.  
  
And like so much in his life, Shiro takes that comment in perfect stride and says, “Not for this.”  
  


* * *

The afternoons of late October always burn a little colder up here. Full of dazzling white sunshine even as the scent in the air threatens snowfall in the hours to come. For all its brilliance, though, the sunlight never manages to warm him up. Keith has gotten used to it, the way winter oversteps fall around the campus. Most days, at least. And when he feels fit to complain about it, Shiro is right there, ready to warm him up without a word.   
  
Granted, he may have to wait a little longer for that today.  
  
“Aren’t you going to sit down? They’re going to announce the teams any minute now.”  
  
Keith turns and gives the metal bleacher bench a bleak once-over. He doesn’t need to sit to know the icy blast that’s about to assault his backside. There’s not a game of Shiro’s Keith has missed, and there’s not a game that hasn’t started without him steeling his soul for the inevitable bite of cold. Drawing in a breath, he casts a glance at Allura and gives his tail a sharp flick.  
  
“Did you bring another one of those?” he asks, barely loud enough to be heard over the rock music blaring across the field. Part of him hopes she didn’t hear the question. The other part, however, waits on edge for her reply.  
  
“Cold?” The smile she offers him bears nothing of kindness. Only a quiet, self-assured tease that would have made the hair on Keith’s tail puff up like a startled blowfish if he wasn’t currently intent on trying to keep warm. She pats down the front of her fleece-lined jacket, which draws more attention to the sleek black gloves she’d chosen than the jacket itself. “I’m surprised you didn’t wear that coat of yours instead of. . .” Her gaze runs a short course over Keith’s torso. She does nothing to hide her apparent displeasure. “. . ._that_. Honestly, Keith, are you trying to freeze out here?”  
  
“There’s nothing wrong with this!” Keith retorts, huffing out immediately after. His outburst causes his tail to strike up into the air, which only furthers Allura’s amusement and leaves him feeling vaguely outclassed. Sure, his hoodie _is_ a little worn and a bit too big, but it had been one of the first things Garrison University had put out with Shiro’s last name printed across the shoulders. Unfortunately, it had also come in the college’s bland military green hue, but that had done nothing to dampen Keith’s excitement the first time he saw it in the college bookstore. “It’s not like my jacket has anything better anyway —” It did, but he’s not about to admit that. “— and I was talking about your seat cushion.”  
  
“Oh? This?” Allura rises up only to plop herself right back down on the brilliant pink cushion. Her grin is downright devious. “I suppose if someone were to ask nicely. . .”  
  
The flush that hits his cheeks might have made a volcano’s untimely explosion seem completely predictable. In the span of a breath, Keith feels the heat rise from his core to color his skin a shade of red that probably looks godawful against the green of his hoodie, but who is considering those things?  
  
Allura.  
  
Probably.  
  
If that smug smile on her lips spoke of anything. Keith shoves his hands into the front pocket of his sweatshirt and forces his gaze out over the football field, where their school’s cheerleaders look far more frozen than he does. Their seats aren’t all that bad, though the good ones always went to the university's patrons and diehard alumni. They had a decent view of the Garrison’s bench, though, which is all that really mattered to Keith. Being able to see Shiro during the down moments of the game. . .sometimes, Keith felt he got a better sense of the game from that than any play he witnessed on the field.  
  
Not that any of that would keep him any warmer up here. With a sigh, he glances back over at Allura, his ears halfway to flat over his head. “It would be nice if you had another one.”  
  
“It would be nice, wouldn’t it?”  
  
“And if you wouldn’t mind. . .sharing it. . .with me. . .”  
  
“I could think about it.”  
  
Just then, a gust cuts across the stands, putting the shiver into Keith’s spine and forcing his tail to curl around his right leg. “Oh, c’mon, Allura!”  
  
“How does a nice boy like Shiro handle such a mannerless stray? Werewolf or not, he’s quite well behaved. He would have known to add a please and thank you for this. . .”  
  
Two things happen in the wake of that question. While Allura looks genuinely confused over the hows and whys plaguing the idea of such a _nice_ boy like Shiro hanging around someone like Keith, she appears just as amused over the whole arrangement, which leads Keith to the first of those two things. He grins. Sharp and remorseless, canines fully on display. With his shoulders back, Keith surveys the field once more.  
  
A lot of space down there.  
  
That thought never fails to strike him every time he ends up in the stadium for one of Shiro’s games. A lot of space, and yet, Shiro always seems to command it.  
  
He shifts his attention back to Allura. The quizzical nature of her expression, perfectly glossed lips slightly parted and blue eyes full of innocence, does nothing to dampen the second thing that happens. His reply.  
  
“Oh, he handles me quite well, Princess. So well, in fact, I even give him a _please_ and a _thank you_.”

She blinks, once then twice, and suddenly, understanding slaps her cheeks red and colors the innocence of her eyes with shock. But that doesn’t stop Keith. He leans in then, lowering his voice just enough to keep the next bit between them.  
  
“But since I’m not a virgin, I would guess you just don’t know all the right ways to handle me. Though it must make Lance great to manage.”  
  
“Keith!”  
  
She looks appropriately scandalized, the blush and exclamation all playing into it, but there’s no truth to any of it. Well, maybe a bit, if once places faith in the honesty of a blush. However, he can see the laughter threatening to overtake her, which causes him to laugh in earnest. After another moment of trying to uphold appearances, Allura gives in to her laughter as well and throws the extra bleacher cushion right at Keith’s chest. He catches it cleanly, lifts his eyebrows at the pale blue color, then places the cushion over the 605 marking his seat on the bench.  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
Rather than acknowledge him, Allura laces her fingers together and turns her to the field. The stadium is nearly packed now. Below them, the college band strikes up one of the latest radio hits. “Is that how you also thank Shiro?”

Keith starts, then sputters an incoherent reply, the noise coming out as chopped up bits of denial. Before dropping into his seat, he throws a glare in her direction only to find Allura still looking out over the stadium. There’s no denying the small curve of her lips, however.  
  
“For your information, I find plenty of ways to thank him,” Keith finally mutters. The cushion does all he had hoped it would, keeping the cold from soaking in through his jeans. “And he enjoys every one of them.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
While usually an innocuous sort of reply, this particular _Oh _comes laced with genuine curiosity. Then again, Allura had never been capable of hiding her interest in personal gossip. She watches him from the corner of her eye. Expectant.  
  
Keith uses the moment granted to him by her interest to collect himself.When he doesn’t immediately reply, Allura lets out a small laugh and waves her hand at him. Not quite dismissive, but a begrudging acceptance of his silence.  
  
“I never would have guessed that anti-social catboy from high school would have turned out so. . .”  
  
Another little flip of her wrist with no further follow-up.  
  
“. . .So?”   
  
Allura chuckles again as she plants her chin into an awaiting palm. With her elbow pressed to her knee and her body turned toward him, one might have easily mistaken them for a couple flirting before kick-off. Allura had already turned a few heads. Not that Keith could blame any of them. She’s stunningly beautiful. Even he has to admit that. Granted, most in her bloodline are. Sort of came with the territory, or so he had assumed. Just like everyone knew werewolves were bound to howl at the full moon and that witches earned their first familiar at thirteen, they knew that those born of unicorn’s blood had radiance enough to rival the sun and all her stars. Keith chalks the attention up to the silver sparkle of her hair, all snowfall gilded by moonlight, and the way her delighted smile could ignite hope in the heart of any who saw it.  
  
“So positively promiscuous,” she states.  
  
His brow furrows. He mouths the word _promiscuous_ like someone discovering bitterness for the first time. He knows werecats had a. . .reputation. But —

“I’ve only been with Shiro.”  
  
Allura smiles at him. Honest in a way that warms his heart rather than setting fire to his cheeks. “You must love him to have stayed with him all this time. I think it’s nice, Keith. That you have someone like that.”  
  
“And what about you?” Keith asks. He flicks a glance toward the field as the band starts to quiet down. Almost noon. Any moment now the stadium speakers would be announcing the starting line-ups. “You’re still seeing Lance, aren’t you?”  
  
“Still going strong,” she laughs. “Though we’re going to have to do something about that whole vampire thing if it’s going to go anywhere. . .”  
  
Eyebrow quirked, Keith tips his head in her direction. “What’s that got to do with him? Him being and vampire and all. . .” A pause as Allura wrinkles her nose. “. . .or is it the virgin thing?”  
  
“For the love of the gods, Keith, could you not?!” Pink dusts her cheeks, reminding him of sunset spilling over the desert sands back home. “Though, that’s part of it. . .”  
  
This time, Keith wrinkles his nose. Flat as stale Coke, he says, “I don’t think I want to know.”  
  
“Oh, so you’ll go on about the please-and-thank-yous of your bedroom adventures with Shiro, but I can’t talk about my relationship?”  
  
“I wasn’t _going on_ about my. . .stuff with Shiro!”  
  
“Well, it was more than enough for the imagination.”  
  
“Yours, maybe.”  
  
“Somehow, I think Pidge and Hunk would agree with me on this one.”  
  
“But not Lance?”  
  
“No, especially Lance.”  
  
“Who hasn’t had sex yet. . .”

“You do know vampires don’t procreate like the rest of you beasts.”  
  
“Says the magical uni-horned girl. . .”  
  
“How does anyone have a conversation with you!?”  
  
“They don’t.”  
  
“Unbelievable.”  
  
Keith breathes in as the coaches exit from opposite tunnels to take up temporary residence over their team’s bench. Despite his best efforts, he ends up tracking Sendak as he stalks to his designated side of the field, still as large as he is intimidating. He easily towers over the members of his own team. To think that Shiro had stood face-to-face with him on the field at one point. . .With a shake of his head, Keith dismisses the thought and returns to his conversation with Allura.  
  
“So. . .what’s it about then?”  
  
“Hmm?”  
  
“The. . .sex thing. . .I mean, I know you all have some weird attraction to virgins and all that.”  
  
“Mostly myth, I’ll have you know. We like who we like, just like the rest of you.”  
  
Pursing his lips, Keith mulls over the implications of that statement. They all had their various myths about their respective cultures, mostly spread by the fear that had bitten the human population. Not that everything known about them was lies. Most had their roots in truth, exacerbated by the terror that tends to take over hearts and minds alike when confronted with the unknown in the dark. (And most of his kind did like the dark.) Keith only had to look at his own past, moving from place to place until they found somewhere that had broken down the fear into bite-sized morsels of truth for the tasting. Even if they still lived separated from the majority of the world, it beat clinging to the shadows, didn’t it?

“So, Lance isn’t a virgin?”  
  
“Oh, no, he is,” Allura replies, that smile lighting up her lips again and earning her a few more admirers from the students crowding the bleachers above them. “It’s rather delightful, actually. For all his boasting, he’s charmingly pure of heart on these matters.”

“Why do you need to change that then?”  
  
As if assaulted by another icy cut of wind, Allura ducks her head into the nest of her scarf, though the act does nothing to hide her frown from him. She sighs, tipping her head in the direction of the field, and closes her eyes. “You know there aren’t many of us, right?”  
  
Everyone knew that along with the grisly past that so often predated statements like that. All of them had similar stories haunting their histories. Even now, Keith can hear the warnings his mother used to give him as a child: _“Whatever you do this Halloween, Keith, do not change into your cat form. You hear me?”_  
  
“Yeah. . .I know. . .”  
  
Another sigh, this time accompanied by a small smile. “Well, there are certain expectations held of us.” Allura laughs again, the sound weighted with dulled amusement. “Which makes the sex thing a little more important. I can’t very well go around playing vampire and biting others, hoping to create a family of my own.”  
  
“Oh. . .”

Allura blinks at him, eyebrow lifted prettily. Waiting.

As the seconds tick on, Keith can feel the hair raising along the back of his neck. The prickling response travels down along his spine until the fine black fur of his tail slowly starts to puff up. And then, it hits him.  
  
“_Oh._”  
  
“There you go,” Allura says. That touch of laughter still threads itself through her voice, more genuine this time.  
  
“What are you going to do then?” Keith asks.  
  
Shrugging, Allura exhales and leans back. She places her hands on the back of the bench, gloved fingers curling around the metal, and turns her head to the sky. It’s a beautiful afternoon despite all the chill. Perfect blue with just enough cloud cover to keep the sun from being a significant hindrance on the field. Not that that ever seemed to bother Shiro with his wolf’s vision. Keith much preferred staring into the night.  
  
“My father thinks he can manage something for us, though it will take a little more time to figure out.”  
  
“Must be nice having all that magic at your disposal,” Keith says, distracted by the two banners being run across the field. One for each team, their name and mascot plastered across the length of them. Each one swimming through the air like eels hellbent on devouring the poor college kid at their head. Well, he’d feel like the poor college kid having to run around like that. On closer inspection, though, the kelpie racing before his college’s banner seems utterly delighted with the task.  
  
“It has its advantages,” Allura concedes with a sigh. “And its dangers.”  
  
Keith shoots her a look from the corner of his eye but keeps his thoughts on the matter to himself.  
  
Allura doesn’t miss his glance. She meets his gaze unflinching. Her lips pull to a thin line, her brow furrows. Through it all, she still looks as radiant as a morning’s first bloom. After a moment, she says, “But it beats marrying Lotor.”  
  
A sharp laugh cuts over his tongue and strikes the air far more loudly than he had hoped. Keith reaches up to tug on his beanie, his ears flicking forward through their cutouts. Try as he might, he can’t pull it low enough to hide from all that had nearly broken free.  
  
“Guess it’s safe to say you won’t be cheering for him today, huh?”  
  
Pushing a few stray strands of hair behind her right ear, Allura chuckles. “Oh gods, no! Halfbreed or not, those few months of dating in high school were more than enough.”  
  
“I don’t know who those months were worse for — Lance or the rest of us.”  
  
Allura blinks. “Was it really that bad?”  
  
“If I had to listen to him pine for one more day, I swear I would have staked him myself to put him out of his misery.”  
  
“And here I thought you were the king of pining in high school.”  
  
His tail puffs up as Keith lets out an indignant scoff. “I wasn’t _pining_!”  
  
“Are you sure about that? Even Shiro was convinced.”  
  
“What?!”

That his exclamation could sound like the complaining mewl of a kitten instead of his adult voice is more than enough to make him consider disappearing inside of his hoodie, full cat form, snug within the warmth and the dark, completely unavailable to the world and its recollections of his past. Instead, the loudspeakers crackle to life, barring him from his own self-pity and drawing his focus to the athletes now lining up outside their respective tunnels.  
  
“It’s hard to miss him, isn’t it?”Allura bumps his shoulder with her own, throwing him a smile in the wake of her actions. “Speaking of marriage, do you think you might lock down Garrison U’s most desirable bachelor? He is graduating soon. . .”  
  
Keith swallows, but it’s not enough to reverse the flood of memory washing up and over him. Tangled fingers, the warmth of their bodies, Shiro grinning like he’d already won the title game.

_“I could do this forever with you. . .”_  
  
He glances down at his hands. No gloves, but his hoodie pocket would do the trick against the cold. Not that he would feel it once the game began. Every time Shiro took the field, Keith couldn’t take his eyes off of him. Whether on the bench or preparing to throw, every little moment captures Keith’s attention. Maybe that’s fucked up, being so invested in someone. . .or perhaps that’s just being in love.  
  
“Who knows,” Keith says, his gaze still fixed on his hands. He wriggles his fingers in succession, counts them down from five to one. He had worn a ring in high school, supposedly passed down from his father though it only ever fit on his thumb. And there had been Shiro’s spare set of dog tags. He’d worn the main set a handful of times as well back home when it was just them, away from the gaze of the city. He’d always liked the way Shiro’s eyes lit up when he saw them against Keith’s skin. That feral glint never failed to put a tremble in his core. Not fear, but anticipation. When he’d finally become aware of not only how much Shiro wanted him but of all the various ways in which he did. “Maybe.”  
  
“Wait. So, you _would_ be open to marrying him?”  
  
It’s the surprise in Allura’s voice that pulls his attention from the field. She had been right. It’s hard to miss Shiro now. He stands out like a spot of sunlight on a shadow-drenched forest floor.  
  
“Is that weird?”  
  
Allura hums as she tugs on a lock of her hair. After a moment, she nods her head. A short but solid movement. “Not weird. I guess I always thought werecats weren’t inclined to settling down. . .”  
  
“My mom did. Sort of.”  
  
“Oh! That’s right. She found your dad again after. . .”  
  
Neither of them bothers to finish that statement, though Keith knows they’re both well aware of the situation in question. Instead, he nods as well and buries his hands inside the front pocket of his hoodie.  
  
“Yeah. They’ve got a new house now about a mile from the high school.”  
  
“By Shiro’s grandfather?”  
  
“Mmm.” Keith toes at the back edge of the bleacher bench in front of him. “The pack pretty much has him taken care of what with there being no one else now that Shiro’s out here, but he seems to like my dad a lot. He always asks him to come over to play chess even though my dad has no clue about the rules.”  
  
Allura snorts out a laugh. “Like father like son, isn’t it?”  
  
The hiss slips out of him first. Quick and potent, complete with a whip of his tail and pupils narrowing down to fine slits. “Shiro’s taught me how to play! Tch. . .I’m far better at it than my old man, at least.”  
  
“Oh? Last time I heard Shiro talking about it, you seemed happier to knock all the pieces off the board than actually make any plays with them.”  
  
“The _last_ time I played with Shiro, he found something more interesting than the game.”  
  
“Is that really something worth bragging about? You getting —”  
  
“Plowed by Shiro again?”  
  
“You’re late, Pidge!”  
  
“I was not going to say any such thing!”  
  
“But you were thinking it, Allura~.”  
  
“Can we please stop yelling about me getting. . .”  
  
Pidge, decked out in full winter attire, leans in between Keith and Allura, her grin bordering conspiratorial. “Plowed?

Lips working themselves into a scowl, Keith merely offers a low growl in response and hunches even further in on himself. It’s not that he cared what anyone thought about him and Shiro and the things they did. Even if humans were funnier about relationships like that, the idea of them being together barely raised an eyebrow in their community. There are far greater taboos, like bringing silver to a werewolf wedding.  
  
If he did end up marrying Shiro, does that mean they’d have to. . .but there are plenty of wedding vendors for their kind. They’d know those sorts of things, right? Keith shakes his head. It’s not like he and Shiro are getting married any time soon. Lance honestly had a better shot at that, as much as Keith would be loathed to admit it.  
  
“You getting plowed?” Dropping into the seat beside Keith, Pidge tips a bag of stadium popcorn, smelling over-salted and over-buttered, toward him. “Don’t think you’re ever living that thing down after we all caught you in the backseat of his car after prom. . .”  
  
“We weren’t even having sex!”

“You were halfway there,” Pidge mumbles around a mouthful of popcorn. “Besides, practically the whole football team knew when you lost your virginity. They could smell Shiro on you for days.”  
  
Shifting suddenly becomes the best idea he’s had all day. He might even make it down to the bench. Maybe they’d let him nap down there, a new team mascot for the game, or a good luck charm. Tail swishing to and fro, Keith fixes his glare on the field. “How was I supposed to know werewolves’ noses were that good?”  
  
“I can’t believe you just asked that,” Pidge cackles.  
  
Allura claps her hands suddenly, the sound dulled by her gloves, but the point still readily made. “Keith’s right. Do we really need to be talking about this when we’re here to cheer Shiro on?”  
  
Pidge shrugs. Not one ounce of her whispers of remorse. Behind her, though reduced in size to accommodate the packed stands, her wings flutter with amusement. “Yes, yes, let’s all cheer for the god of the football field.”  
  
“Isn’t your brother playing?” Allura asks.  
  
At the mention of her sibling, Pidge lights up. Literally. Keith always found it a little weird when pixies got all shot-through with colored light in their excitement. Apparently, it kicked it when they hit eighteen or somewhere around there, though all parents knew what hue their children would bear at birth. A one-time flash, like a lightning strike, and then gone for years. Keith hadn’t known about any of it until Pidge practically blinded them all when she received her college acceptance letter.  
  
“Hell yeah, he is! Garrison U has never known a better kicker than Matt!”  
  
“At least, his stats are good somewhere,” Keith says, a vicious slice of a smile punctuating it.  
  
Pidge sticks her tongue out, just long enough for Keith to consider poking it. “Just because you’re some love-smitten kitten doesn’t mean the rest of us feel left out.”  
  
“Oh! Is that why they call him the Strike-Out Prince?” Allura, suddenly intrigued, presses her shoulder against Keith. The only times he’s seen her eyes sparkle that brilliantly was when her favorite clothing store announced a sale or the cupcake place downtown announced their holiday specials. “I was wondering how a football kicker would be getting strikeouts.”  
  
One breath taken, and Keith can feel his whole expression collapse. “You do know that no one gets a strike-out in football, right?”  
  
Allura cants her head toward the field. “That’s not when they miss the kick?”  
  
Pidge nearly topples out of her seat, her arms wrapped around her stomach, her wings a kaleidoscope of flashing colors. “Please, Keith, stop her. . .I’m too young to die. . .”  
  
“And now onto today’s starting line-up!”  
  
“Thank the gods,” Keith breathes out. No sooner had the loudspeakers crackled with life, his attention finds itself locked onto Shiro once again. He always looks good in uniform. Easily one of the tallest on the team. Broad shoulders. Head held high. His white hair cropped close at the nape of his neck, tussled on top. And that fucking gorgeous smile, the one that still made Keith’s heart stumble right out of his chest.  
  
Sometimes, he wondered if there was anything Shiro wouldnt’t look good in. Even the dull mud-green of the Garrison’s school colors did nothing to pale his image.  
  
“Looks like Shiro found his glove,” Pidge comments with a tip of her popcorn bag toward the field. Several pieces tumble to the floor, though she seems no worse for their loss.  
  
“He has a spare, you know,” Keith replies.  
  
With a shrug, Pidge begins toeing at one of the casualties of her careless bag tip. “Yeah, but athletes get funny about their gear. Matt says he spent forever looking for it.”  
  
“Wonder what makes it so special. . .” Allura muses. She sounds honestly interested in the reasoning. Which means Shiro is likely to expect a question or two on it after the game.  
  
How he would handle explaining that. . .  
  
“Do you know, Keith?”  
  
“. . .Wha—”  
  
Pidge kicks him in the ankle. “The glove, kitten.”  
  
“Don’t call me that!”

“Shiro does~.”  
  
“Shiro’s. . .different.”  
  
“Is this a bedroom thing?”  
  
“I thought we were done talking about my sex life, Allura.”  
  
Allura laughs, the sound all sunshine and clear skies, earning her several heart-won smiles from a group of boys two rows over. “Then how about the glove?”  
  
Keith licks his lips. It’s not that he doesn’t know why Shiro likes that one. Rather the memory flashes all too vividly before him like it does almost every time he focuses on Shiro’s left hand. How they had “broken it in” on the apartment couch Shiro’s freshman year, all because Keith had demanded the chance to take Shiro out of his practice uniform. The first time Keith had blurted out he loved Shiro. He’d been so completely overcome with his own emotions, desire rioting and his heart fit to burst, that the words had come spilling out of him. Honest and just a bit desperate. He hadn’t seen Shiro since he had moved into the werecreatures complex, and the weeks had worn on him like years.   
  
“No idea. Probably some weird win-streak thing. . .” he murmurs.  
  
The look Pidge shoots him is downright bloodthirsty in its mischief. Their eyes meet. Keith resists the urge to groan. Then, just like that, her expression evens itself out like a lake in the wake of a tornado’s passing. All of it leaving Keith to wonder what sort of destruction he’ll find later.

“Werewolves are pretty possessive about their things,” she says, giving her popcorn bag a shake. “Even if Shiro seems pretty laid back about this stuff.”  
  
Keith’s gaze tracks Shiro as he bounces up and down at the mouth of the tunnel. The last to be announced. He doesn’t miss the quick scan of the crowd Shiro makes, though, nor the small smile that graces his lips. It makes Keith smile as well, his chest welling up with. . .something. He’s never quite figured out this feeling he gets whenever he realizes Shiro has picked him out of the crowd.  
  
Proud? Yeah, there’s that. He loves seeing Shiro on the field, getting the recognition he deserves. And love? Well, there’s definitely a lot of that. Antsy? Maybe there’s some of that too. He’s not particularly concerned about Shiro getting hurt on the field, even if the potential for injury comes with every game. But, Shiro’s strangely resilient in a lot of ways. . .surprisingly fragile in others.  
  
“He looks calm,” Allura comments.

Did she just sigh in relief after that?  
  
The sound had been near inaudible yet impossibly loud to him. Keith turns to her, one ear fixed on the field’s speakers, the other one pointed directly at her.  
  
She blinks at him. “What?”  
  
With a shake of his head, Keith exhales. The world slowly starts to come back into view: the college kids crowding the stands around them, the smell of Pidge’s popcorn, the green of the field from the corner of his eye.  
  
Still, Allura keeps looking at him like he’d suddenly morphed into one of Slav’s bloated philosophical word problems, and then, suddenly, she smiles.  
  
“Guess I shouldn’t have been so worried.”

Pidge kicks him again, this time nailing his shin with the toe of her boot. “You’re gonna miss him.”  
  
A small part of him wants to say something in the wake of Allura’s words, but all he hears is the growing roar of the crowd, the music cutting over it, and the announcer dropping the word _quarterback_ with all the showmanship of a ringmaster. Then again, those of a Furies’ line had always been predisposed toward certain. . .theatrics. The effect is palpable. The students erupt around them, howls rising up from the stands and drowning out Shiro’s name as it’s announced.  
  
The home-field advantage they call it.  
  
Shiro jogs out toward his bench, gaze focused, his helmet held high to acknowledge the crowd’s enthusiasm. He can imagine it, the way Shiro would laugh it all off, then draw his team back to the task at hand. In a world where so many people just floated about, tied to nothing more than their day-to-day survival, Shiro stood as a rally point for all those hearts looking for the more beyond.  
  
Not so long ago, Keith had been one of them. Somewhere along the way, however, everything reversed. Or maybe they’re more like equals now. A little less of the hero worship and far more in love with the man himself. Is that what it means to grow up? To see the world and the people in it for what they are rather than the expectations fed to them by a heart blinded by its own youth.

To love a little more honestly rather than recklessly.  
  
The game starts with all its usual ceremony: captains gathering at the center of the field, the initial greetings made. Keith watches as Shiro steps forward to shake Lotor’s hand. The smile on his lips never falters, though his ears remain fixed on the quarterback before him.  
  
“Lotor really didn’t get much from his mom’s side, did he?” Pidge says.  
  
She’s not looking for an answer, but Keith knows Allura will offer up one anyway. So, he holds his tongue and continues to watch the center of the field. Where Shiro will eventually shift, allowing him to place his helmet over his head without the obstruction of his ears, Lotor has no need to change appearances. The black scales that glimmer in patches over his skin do nothing to hinder his equipment, but they do give him a defensive advantage when it comes to the hits he may end up taking. Keith still remembers the smile Shiro had worn when he had explained all of that to him: tight and mirthless.  
  
“He got more than enough,” Allura answers, bitterness lacing her words. “But all that dragon running through him might have been a prayer in disguise. I’d hate to think what he’d be capable of if he had inherited all of his mother’s magical ability.”  
  
Squinting under the glare of the sun, Pidge laughs. Harsh around the edges and turning the sound to broken glass. “Unicorns are scary.”  
  
Allura, wide-eyed and indignant, blurts out, “Not all of us!”  
  
“You especially!”

Even as the sound of her laughter lightens up, Keith can still detect the strain in Pidge’s voice. He flicks an ear in her direction but keeps his eyes on the field. Garrison U won the coin toss and looks to be setting up to receive.  
  
“That’s why they recruited Hunk,” Keith says. “If anyone can put a dent in a dragon, it’s a gargoyle. Besides, we have Shiro. Doesn’t matter what Lotor has up his sleeves today. . .”  
  
Pidge jumps up, thrusting her bag of popcorn into the air like a knight their sword. “That’s right! Who needs commercial-ready hair and stupid good looks when we’ve got the god of the field on our side!”  
  
Allura snorts beside him.  
  
“Wha. . .are you saying Shiro’s not good looking?!” Keith can’t help it. The words are out, his tail is puffed. There's no taking back that sort of reaction.  
  
Pidge glances down at him. “Well, he’s got charm, and I guess the looks to attract _some_ people. . .”  
  
Reaching up, Keith tugs on the hem of Pidge’s coat and drags her back to her seat. She grins at him, full of mischief.  
  
“I hate you so much,” Keith mutters.

Pidge cackles loudly beside him. “You love me~.”  
  
“You’re lucky we’ve been friends since high school.”  
  
“Speaking of high school,” Pidge says, darting a glance around the stands, “where’s lover boy?”  
  
The sound of a whistle cuts across the air. Shouts rise up sporadically from the field. Keith can’t make out all of the details of the field, but when the ball arcs into the air, his heart starts hammering, and his nails instinctively sharpen. He digs them into the fabric of his hoodie, careful not to rake through it, and stares, enrapt, as the football begins its descent. A tremble works its way over his lips as one of Garrison’s players catches it cleanly.  
  
“He’s in the media booth, doing work for his club,” Allura answers.  
  
Pidge elbows him. “Keith, stop chittering. You’re never going to get the ball.”  
  
With his tail back to swishing to and fro, Keith mutters something unintelligible below his breath. Whenever Shiro is involved, it’s so damnably hard to control his instincts. It’s not like he wanted the ball, but knowing that Shiro is down there, waiting for it. . .  
  
Allura breaks into laughter, another burst of sunshine over the nearby crowd, another distraction from the field. How she remains immune to it, Keith will never know.  
  
The first quarter ends with neither school on the board. Shiro’s last pass had almost gotten them there, landing solidly in their wide receiver’s hands. Another from Draco’s lineage, but like Lotor and himself, another half-breed. Before he could slip into the end zone, however, Regris had been wrestled violently to the ground. No worse for the wear, though, the crowd made their displeasure known with a chorus of growls and screeches. Keith had met him at a party once. He’d been quiet, casually nursing a beer in the corner, more a shadow than one with fire in his veins. For some reason, Keith had automatically liked him, though they shared all of maybe fifteen words. Something about the silence had felt more like a warm blanket in winter than a blade against his throat.

He also hasn’t forgotten the way Shiro marked him that night, murmuring of his jealousy and the stupidity of such feelings. Keith had allowed him without complaint, only hissing when one of Shiro’s fangs had drawn blood. He’d spent the next morning tracing the patterns of possession across his body.

“Remember all those rumors back in the day?” Pidge asks. Her bag of popcorn sits abandon between her feet, half-eaten. Gnawing on a straw now, she glances over at Keith, then cranes her head to peer at Allura. “Do you really believe Lotor got his position because of his dad? “  
  
“I can’t believe you charmed that poor freshman into getting you a drink,” Allura says, her lips pulling to a flat line. “And yes, I remember those rumors quite well —”  
  
“Lotor can play.” The two girls turn to face him. Keith shrugs. “Not saying I like the guy or anything really, even if Shiro thinks he’s different from most of GT’s lot. But he has the skills to be first string.”  
  
“He’s still an asshole,” Pidge mutters.  
  
“Definitely an asshole,” Allura follows. She tucks another stray lock of hair behind her ear, the strands sparkling like newly fallen snow beneath the sun.  
  
Pidge lets out a low whistle. “Hoho, look at the mouth on our princess!”  
  
“What?!” Allura exclaims. She clears her throat, her eyes darting from Pidge then back to the field, as a blush suffuses across her cheeks. “It’s not like that’s the first time. . .” But even as she speaks, her voice loses its steam, and whatever else she had thought to conjure up in her defense evaporates on her tongue.  
  
“Remember the first time we heard Shiro curse?” Prodding at the straw with her tongue, Pidge shifts it toward the corner of her mouth. “I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so hard in my life.”  
  
“You mean when he forgot he’d left his dog tags with Keith?” Allura asks. “I can’t believe they still have to wear them in the cities. Humans do know they’re not actual dogs, don’t they?”  
  
The genuine concern in Allura’s voice loosens the armor Keith tends to keep over his words and heart. A smile, soft and small, tugs at his lips.  
  
“Humans still don’t know what to make of us, even if it has been a few decades since our kind came out officially,” Pidge says. She crunches down on the end of her straw, irritated. “Doesn’t help that most of them are stupid a—.”  
  
“Shiro doesn’t like it,” Keith interjects, “but. . .he knows it’s important to follow the rules with this. Most of the time, anyway.” He licks his lips, ducks his head a little lower into his hoodie, then swallows another breath. Shiro stands by the bench, water bottle in hand, as he listens to whatever instructions his coach, Thace, has for him. “He says if it makes them more accepting for the moment, it’s okay. Because one day, werewolves won’t have to wear things like that.”  
  
Rolling her eyes, Pidge plucks the straw from her mouth. “They do realize if a werewolf wanted to turn one of them, a dog tag isn’t going to stop them. . .”  
  
“It’s no different from vampires, is it?” Keith points out. “They all have to get registered with the different hospitals and blood banks. Even if most of them make blood pacts with one of our own kind. . .” He can feel his cheeks starting to flare up, his heart threatening supernova. “Besides, it’s not like werewolves need to do that anymore. . .”  
  
Pidge grins at him, the straw trapped between her teeth once again and looking more like a threat against his sanity than some destroyed drinking utensil. “Oho~.”  
  
“Think they’ll ever stop being afraid of us?”

Allura’s voice has the same quality as the air at dawn: suffused with a soft light, the promise of a beginning. It causes the breath to still in Keith’s lungs as he turns to her. She’s sitting there beside him, right elbow planted on her knee, her chin in her hand, her eyes on the field. And yet, he gets the feeling she's connected to everything around them. Even if he wanted to escape into his feline form and curl up beneath his hoodie, he knows he couldn’t escape from that.  
  
When Pidge replies, her voice carries only a faint trace of her former amusement. “We’re getting there, aren’t we? Not all of us have it so bad now. . .”  
  
The corner of Allura’s mouth curves, the only thing visible beneath the curl of her fingers.  
  
“As long as they leave Shiro alone. . .” Keith mutters.  
  
Laughter suddenly assaults him from both sides.  
  
“Do you ever have anything else on your mind other than your boyfriend?” Pidge asks. It almost seems like a genuine question. Coming from her, however, there's no avoiding the inherent tease.  
  
Keith purses his lips and returns to watching Shiro, whose attention has devoted itself to the field. “Tch. . .”  
  
Galra Tech fails to score on their opening plays of the second quarter, and after a misfired throw, lose control to the Garrison’s cornerback, Rolo. The pickoff had been beautifully executed. Shiro had spoken of the guy once, pointing him out while reviewing videos for a game several weeks ago. For a _kamaitachi_, Rolo is unnaturally tall, which gave him all the advantage he needed for the football field compared to his brethren. At least, that’s how Shiro explained it to him. One didn’t often hear of the weasel clans stocking the football fields. Soccer, maybe, but full-contact sports never played into their favor much.

Through it all, Shiro observes the field, leaning over occasionally to say something to Thace. Every now and then, he splays the fingers of his right hand against his thigh. Furling and unfurling them in an act Keith has come to learn is purely unconscious. A remnant of another time.  
  
When halftime rolls around, both teams remain scoreless. Pidge spends the break tormenting several nearby students with wisps of wind unraveling scarves and stealing beneath jackets and hoodies alike. At some point, a young man with black ram horns curling tightly on either of his head shows up with an offering of hot chocolate for all three of them. Keith simply stares at him while Allura sighs and turns an accusatory stare on Pidge.  
  
As she relieves the student of one of his cups, Pidge shrugs. “What?”  
  
“You know Bacchus’ ilk are easily swayed, so why do you insist on playing games with them?” Allura asks. Even as she speaks, however, she’s reaching for a cup as well. “Keith, take the other one. He’s not going to be free of this madness unless you do.”  
  
“Because they’re easily swayed! Who wants to work harder than they need to? Efficiency is god, after all!”  
  
“Gods have mercy,” Allura breathes out.  
  
Keith takes the last cup. Not because he has any particular desire for hot chocolate, being rather disinclined toward sweet things, but out of a sense of.. .pity? Male solidarity? The warmth enveloping his fingertips proves to be the true answer, though he does feel sorry for the guy. The moment the weight leaves the student’s hand, he blinks and stares at Keith, completely bewildered. Allura rescues him with a flash of a smile and a tip of her head. The boy blushes, pops open his lips, then shakes his head.  
  
“Sorry,” he says before turning to scurry down the steps faster than a mouse before a cat.  
  
“What’s that. . .the third time already?” Keith tips his cup, slowly swirling the contents within it. “That might be a new record, Pidge.”  
  
“Don’t encourage her, Keith!”  
  
“I wouldn’t exactly call that encouragement. More like bleak fascination. . .”  
  
“Just admit it. You both think I’m awesome~.”  
  
“Awesomely horrific,” Keith states. No matter how many times he coats the sides of his cup with the thick chocolatey mixture, it never sticks. Just leaves behind that clean cream color of the cups' inner walls, glaring up at him in its innocence.

Allura’s attempt to stifle her laughter results in her snorting into her palm instead. When they both stop to look at her, she throws up her hands. “Would you two watch the game already!?”  
  
“But it’s half—”  
  
“Shiro!”  
  
“Oh, I guess it’s time already.” Pidge’s survey of the field proves lackluster at best. Long enough to catch the players streaming back out of their tunnels, nothing more. Instead, her gaze fixates on Keith as a smirk blossoms over her lips. “Look at you so attuned to his arrival. You sure you don’t have some sort of dog in you?”  
  
Keith opens his mouth only for Allura to slap her hand over it. “Don’t you even say it!”  
  
His lips curve against her palm. He knows she can feel the smile with the way her hand clamps down even further over his mouth. Gloved or not, some sensations simply can’t be denied.  
  
“I spend far too much time with you,” Allura mutters, defeated. She pulls her hand away, dropping it into her lap where the other rests, her fingers delicately wrapped around her hot chocolate.  
  
The second half begins with Garrison University on the offensive. Having watched him all season, Keith can tell that Shiro is in top form. His passes are crisp, never failing to find their intended targets, and within minutes of starting, he already has their offensive line pushing against Galra Tech’s end zone. Even from here, he can hear Shiro call out across the field. Keith loves it, that strength behind Shiro’s voice when he commands. Loves it all the more for knowing that doubt can plague the man just as easily as damp stalks the earth after rain.

Pidge leans against him. “He’s looking good.”  
  
Keith nods. He doesn’t know what to say to that. Of course, Shiro looked good out there. He’s spent so many years training for moments like this, and seeing him leading his team in the title game of their season. . .how could he not be prepared?  
  
“I was worried,” Allura says, that strange quality infiltrating her voice again. Warm with the promise of hope, but this time, shaking off the last bits of darkness from it. “I wasn’t sure how he would manage going against Sendak again after the training camp.”  
  
“That was a long time ago,” Keith replies. But even he feels the fear brushing against his heart as the memories of those days drift up toward the surface.  
  
“Not so long ago.” Allura looks over at him. The smile she wears softens her features in a way that could break hearts if Keith were the sort inclined to such things.  
  
Clearing his throat, Keith allows himself the space to lean back against Pidge. She says nothing, only settles her head against his shoulder, and continues to watch the players below sort themselves out. It’s an understanding he can appreciate, though he won’t go thanking her for it. “He wouldn’t be here without you. . .”  
  
Allura’s laughter fills the air around him, and yet, it doesn’t turn a single head. A bubble of singular existence encapsulating them, this moment just theirs. Maybe he will end up having to thank Pidge after all.  
  
With a shake of her head, Allura says, “I only helped break Haggar’s curse, and only with the help of my father at that. We were all surprised to learn about our kind yielding that sort of black magic. . .but Shiro is here because of you, Keith. You’re the one who ultimately brought him back to himself. If it hadn’t been for your voice, I doubt he ever would have found himself out of those dream woods.”

Something coils tight around his heart. Not the fear from before but something deeper, stronger than even that primordial being.  
  
“Never would have thought the whole ordeal would turn him into a silver wolf, though. That was entirely unexpected,” Allura continues. “My father is still baffled by it, but he’s infinitely glad Shiro returned to us. Though, it’ll be some time before he can remove the astral lines from his arm.”  
  
Shiro’s right arm. Keith had spent nights more nights than he can remember tracing the lines running from Shiro’s shoulder down to his fingers. They’d glimmer with a faint blue light in the wake of his touch like the trailing edge of a star’s dream. Allura’s father had explained them, old magic infused with the darkest dreams held by the shadows. The parts of their kind’s existence that had made humanity fear them all those centuries ago. Keith hadn’t entirely understood it. He’d only known that whatever had happened during that time had nearly taken Shiro from him, and that for some reason, it was his desperate call into the darkness that had brought Shiro back to himself.  
  
Pidge turns her head, setting her chin to Keith’s shoulder. “You’d think Galra Tech would want students who wanted to be there playing for them.”  
  
“They want total dominance,” Allura says, her voice all steel and shield. “And they do not think beyond that. Everyone on that team down there believes in that creed to some extent.”  
  
“Sendak just hates that Shiro got the best of him,” Keith remarks. He’s been watching Sendak, prowling up and down the length of his team’s bench throughout the game, and he hasn’t missed the way Sendak’s attention catches on Shiro’s presence. “I don’t even know why he thought Shiro was anything like him. He may have been some great quarterback in his day, but Shiro’s definitely better. ”  
  
“Keith, your claws,” Pidge murmurs. She gives his left hand a needling poke with her index finger.  
  
“Sorry.”  
  
And just when Keith thinks he might actually be sorry for that, Garrison University scores. The crowd erupts. Regris, never being one to like drawing attention to himself on the field (or off it for that matter), yields the end zone to the tackles, a pair of werewolf twins who given Shiro a run for his money on height. The tip their heads to the sky and let out a set of piercing howls that has those in the stands joining in chorus. Only Shiro stands there, his gaze fixed on Sendak. After a moment too long, he turns and walks away, the whole world oblivious to him.

Except for Keith.

They score twice more, losing ground only once to Galra Tech between the last few minutes of the third and the start of the fourth. Shiro manages a set of quick, precise passes that drives his team back to the end zone within minutes of Lotor’s field-arcing throw. The one that had garnered Galra Tech its second touchdown of the game and a brief but breath-stilling lead. Keith watches it all play out, the almost vicious efficiency of Shiro’s assessments on the field to his rallying cries that cut right into Keith. Even Pidge had gone strangely silent beside him, her fingers dug into his hoodie’s left sleeve as though she might pull victory from its threads.  
  
Only three minutes to the last quarter and possession now set to return to Galra Tech. . .but Keith knows Shiro. He’s the come-back king. Without him, who knows where the Garrison’s football team might be now. Probably still floundering in the middle of the pack, going nowhere. Neither a carrier of collegiate hopes nor of its ire. Just simply there.  
  
It’s Hunk who shuts the offensive down. Much to Pidge’s utter delight. Keith had grabbed onto the hem of her jacket to keep her from floating up, though she didn’t seem aware of his tethering efforts. Within a minute, Shiro had his team knocking on the end zone once more, and in the blink of an eye, the howls rose up all around them again.  
  
This time, Shiro doesn’t look to Sendak. He looks to the stands, and as he pulls off his helmet, Keith doesn’t mistake the smile aimed in his direction.

* * *

“How’d it look from up there?”  
  
Keith doesn’t know if this is technically allowed, but he’s down here anyway. The rest of the Garrison’s team is still out on the field, celebrating their win. Around them, the stands have started to empty, though most of its occupants are crowding around the lower seats. All hoping for a glimpse or a word or even a touch. Keith had left them all behind and instead, made his way down to the tunnel, as he usually did, only to find Shiro there, opening his arms and telling him to jump.  
  
So, jump he did.  
  
“You looked. . .good,” Keith manages after catching his breath and finding his feet again. “Like you knew you couldn’t lose.”  
  
Shiro barks out a laugh that puts the tingle in Keith’s toes and a hammer in his heart. He doesn’t bother denying the blush that rushes to color his cheeks.  
  
“Did I? Can’t say it always felt like that, but. . .” Shiro pauses, his lips slightly parted and his gaze roaming Keith’s face. Then, he smiles. As he reaches out to place a hand on Keith’s hip, he continues. “Knowing you were up there with me, maybe I felt like I couldn’t lose. Not with that sort of support at my back.”  
  
He knows others are watching them. Their relationship has been no big secret. Most on the campus knew, in one term or another, that Keith belonged to Shiro and Shiro to him. He’s still adjusting to the pack calling him _mate_, which seemed to be the consensus on his standing with Shiro at this point. The fact that Shiro has never looked for anyone else since they got together that one Halloween night. . .  
  
“You’re just that good, Shiro,” Keith says. He clears his throat and leans in a little closer. Shiro smells like sweat and dirt, a little like leather and something altogether _him_. Like winter and woodsmoke, all the comforts of home. Keith has always loved Shiro’s scent. “Take more credit for yourself! It’s not like a really did anythi—”

Before he can finish that, Shiro is kissing him. Not too soft, not too rough. A kiss like he means it, full of victory and the hints of the quiet that comes after such a storm. Keith slinks his fingers into the short hair at Shiro’s nape, caring not a bit for the slick of sweat that coats his fingertips or the salt that seasons their kiss.  
  
“Marry me, Keith,” Shiro breathes against his lips.  
  
Wait.

_Wait_.

“Shiro?” Keith draws back slightly, only to notice the faint tremble to Shiro’s lips. He drives his gaze upward, and when he meets Shiro’s eyes, he knows everything he had just heard to be straight from a far too honest heart.  
  
“You say you’ve done nothing, but you’ve done everything, Keith. And when I think about what’s coming after. . .” Another pause as Shiro gathers his breath. “. . .I can only see you there greeting it with me.”

_“I could do this forever with you. . .”_

From the corner of his eye, Keith catches movement. Thace. Has he been watching the whole time?

With a swipe of his tongue over his lower lip, Shiro takes a step back. He turns to Thace, who simply smiles and places something against Shiro’s palm. All of it plays in slow motion before Keith. The way Shiro turns back to him, how his ears shimmer into existence over his head, flicking to and fro as they always do when Shiro can’t contain his nerves. . .how he drops to a knee before him and takes Keith’s left hand in his right.  
  
Between them, a ring of intertwined silver and gold held up, glimmering preternaturally.

“Keith Kogane, you are the absolute love of my life. There’s no one else in this universe I want by my side as I explore it. So —” Shiro shifts his hand, bringing his palm to face Keith’s.

He’s worn a ring once, though it now sits on top of his dresser, in a black box he had impulsively bought on a road trip with Shiro two summers ago. Maybe it was the moon, glowing silver against the dark, that called out to the other side of him. Or maybe it was the wolf — equally as silver, equally as bright — that sat beneath it, head tipped as it called out into the night sky. Searching for its pack, Keith had always liked to imagine.  
  
“— Will you marry me?”  
  
The sounds, the smells, everything in the stadium has turned to nothing before this man on bended knee. The sweat still trickles down the sides of his face, and the flush on his cheeks reminds Keith of all the battles Shiro has fought. He shifts his weight, then looks down at Shiro.  
  
Expectant, stupidly-in-love Shiro. Out of all the people in this world, he had to be the one. . .  
  
“Yes,” Keith whispers.  
  
When had his voice becomes so strained? And why is his heart trying to squeeze itself through his ribs? Where had all the sound gone, and why did Shiro still smell so great?  
  
He drops to his knees before Shiro and pushes himself forward. When their lips meet, it’s an indelicate mess of emotion, but so entirely them that Keith can’t find himself caring for the scene they may be making or how this might go down in history. Because this is theirs and theirs alone.  
  
“Yes,” he whispers again. “The answer will always be yes, Shiro.”  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rings aren't actually silver and gold (you know, given that might not go so well with these were-creatures) but magicked that way by a certain fae mentor of Pidge's. Shiro is friends with lots of people, haha. . .anything for his love of Keith. 
> 
> Also, if you liked this story, please drop me a comment here or feel free to come yell at me over on [twitter](https://twitter.com/bymidnightflame)!


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